


A Study in Baking

by Wreck



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking, Fluff, M/M, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:52:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreck/pseuds/Wreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock attempts to make a cake for John's birthday and finds that he may need more help than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Baking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riddlemesphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlemesphinx/gifts).



> This is a belated birthday fic for my bestie and partner in crime, Riddlemsphinx who wanted cake and hot people making out. I hope this is what she wanted :)
> 
> Also, since she is typically my beta, this has not been beta'd. Apologies for any horrible mistakes. I'll fix them later :)

“Sherlock!” 

Sherlock ignored the voice of his Landlady floating up the stairs and stared intently into the glass. He wasn’t entirely sure that the reaction occurring was the intended one. There was an awful lot of smoke.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock finally straightened up and turned around to find Mrs Hudson standing in the kitchen with a scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. That is, he could see her outline since the kitchen was completely filled with smoke. 

“Yes, Mrs Hudson? Was there something you needed?” asked Sherlock.

“You know that I don’t like to interfere with your experiments, Sherlock, but you’ve set off my fire alarm down stairs,” said Mrs. Hudson through her scarf. 

“Apologies Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said already turning back around. “The results of this are vital, and I’m unsure that I have calculated correctly.”

Sherlock opened the door and reached in with gloved hands. Smoke billowed out and he peered down at the concoction in his hands through his safety glasses. 

“Another failure,” Sherlock declared and deposited the dish onto the worktop. “This shouldn’t be so hard, Mrs. Hudson. I was lead to believe that people do this all the time.” Sherlock turned around, squinting through the smoke. “Mrs. Hudson?”

“Just over here, Dear. Opening a window or two,” she called from across the flat. 

“I’m sure I followed the necessary steps and used all of the necessary components,” Sherlock said, looking back over the three charred samples. “Perhaps I need an assistant,” he continued, talking to himself. 

Mrs. Hudson had crossed back into the kitchen. “What was that, Dear?”

“Perhaps you know something about this?” Sherlock waved his hand over his shoulder in a manner that seemed to encompass the general disarray, abandoned experiments, and all. 

“Don’t you usually ask John to assist?” asked Mrs. Hudson. 

“With his own surprise?” 

“Surprise?” Mrs Hudson repeated, moving forward into the kitchen for a closer look. “Sherlock, are these cakes?” 

“Well, yes. Or rather, cake was the intended outcome,” he amended. “It’s John’s birthday.”

“Is it?!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. “Oh, I should have known he would never mention it himself, that silly man. It’s so sweet of you to do something like this for him, Sherlock. I’m sure he’s going to be so surprised.”

“Well, yes, surprise was the intent,” Sherlock agreed. “But I can’t possibly give him these. I’m quite sure this isn’t how they are meant to turn out.”

“Oh, they can’t be that bad,” Mrs Hudson said as she reached out a finger and prodded the blacked cake. She quickly recoiled when it seemed to move in a manner that baked goods should not and tossed a tea towel over the offending confection. She turned back to Sherlock, “Hmmm. I take it this is your first foray into baking?”

“Yes, but it can’t be that hard, can it?” Sherlock asked. “I’m sure I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can, Dear. Maybe you just need some guidance?” She suggested. “Did you consult a cookbook?” 

Sherlock looked around his kitchen, then back at Mrs Hudson with a pointed look. 

“Of course you didn’t. And where did these ingredients come from?” She asked eyeing the bags of flour and sugar. “I’m sure you don’t keep this sort of thing around the flat on a regular basis.”

“I might have borrowed them,” Sherlock admitted. “From your kitchen.”

“Sherlock! We’ve talked about this!”

“Yes, yes. Fine,” He said, cutting off her scolding. “I won’t do it again. I just wanted to surprise John and it would have been too suspicious to get the ingredients myself. He knows I never do the shopping.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed, “You know I can’t stay annoyed with you when you’re acting so sweet.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose at that description of himself. “Still, I think you need someone to help you if you insist on doing this for John.”

“Are you offering, Mrs. Hudson? Because I’ve had your biscuits before and they are quite good.”

“Oh, you do flatter me,” Mrs. Hudson said with a blush. “I’ll see what I can do to help. Now, where are your measuring cups?”

 

***15 Minutes Later***

 

“And you’re quite sure this isn’t how the batter is supposed to look?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Cake batter isn’t meant to, um, is that smoke? Right, well, it’s not meant to smoke even when you bake it,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Are you sure that was actually baking soda?”

They both stared into the mixing bowl as it bubbled and smoked. A large bubble popped and they both took a step back. Mrs. Hudson looked from the worktop to Sherlock and back.

“Right, well. I’ll just leave it too you then, shall I?” said Mrs. Hudson, moving towards the door. “Try not to burn the building down!”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called after his landlady’s hastily retreating form. “You said you’d help!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something, Dear.”

“Mrs. Hudson!” 

The door to 221B snapped shut and Sherlock looked around at the mess of his kitchen.

“Damn.”

 

***30 Minutes Later***

 

“Sherlock! I got your 999 message. What’s wrong,” Molly asked as she burst through the door of 221B and caught sight of the wreckage. 

“Oh, good you’re here, Molly,” Sherlock said, flour flying out of his hair as he popped his head around the corner. “I don’t suppose you know how to make a cake?”

“A what?” 

“A cake, Molly,” Sherlock repeated. “Do try to keep up.”

“Was there a murder involving baked goods?” Molly asked. 

“A murder,” Sherlock asked suddenly interested. “Where? When?”

“What?”

“Where was the murder?” Sherlock asked again, grasping Molly shoulders.

There was a long pause where they both stared at each other in confusion. 

“Why am I here?”

“First: was there a murder?” Sherlock asked; Molly shook her head and he continued, “In that case, I require your assistance making a cake. For John. It’s his birthday.”

Sherlock released Molly’s arms and moved back into the kitchen. Molly followed hesitantly.

“And you need my help?” she asked.

“Yes, well it turns out that baking is not quite as similar to chemistry as I was lead to believe,” Sherlock confessed. “Do you have any experience in these matters, Molly? Mrs. Hudson has already given me up as a bad job and I could really use your help.”

A blush rose on Molly’s cheeks. “Of course I’ll help, Sherlock. Only, what have you done in here?”

“There were a few mishaps,” Sherlock said judiciously, looking over the failed attempts. “I’ve added all of the necessary...” he trailed off gesturing at the mess. 

“Ingredients?” Molly supplied.

“Yes. Ingredients. And, well, I can’t get the desired results.”

“Sherlock, did you follow a recipe? Or did you just throw all of the ingredients in a bowl and hope for the best?” Molly asked.

“I already know what’s in a cake, why would I need a recipe?” Sherlock replied.

Molly gave Sherlock a knowing look and started gathering the scattered ingredients. Sherlock watched in silence as she rinsed out some of the mixing bowls and measuring cups. When she turned around, drying a bowl out with a tea towel, she had a determined look on her face. 

“If you were working on an experiment would you just dump chemical after chemical into a beaker?” 

“Of course not!” Sherlock sounded scandalized. “The reactions would be unpredictable. And the order might be necessary to achieve the desired result.”

“Exactly!” Molly agreed. “And it’s the same with baking. You can’t just throw the eggs in with the flour and start mixing. You have to mix the wet ingredients together, and then slowly mix in the dry ones without over mixing. Oh, and here’s a fun fact,” Molly continued pulling on the lab coat she brought with her when she had thought she was being summoned non-baking purposes, “sugar is a wet ingredient.”

Sherlock gave her a dubious look. “The sugar is a wet ingredient?”

Molly handed Sherlock the bowl that she had finished drying. “Trust me.”

Sherlock gave Molly a rare genuine smile, “Of course.”

“Let’s get started then!”

 

***

 

When John returned to 221B after a long afternoon at the surgery, all he wanted was a hot shower, a hot cup of tea, and to watch "Die Hard: With a Vengeance" while eating takeaway. It was his birthday and he was going to indulge himself in his favourite action film if he wanted to, Sherlock’s commentary be damned. So when he opened the door to his flat and found Sherlock waiting for him like a puppy waiting for a walk, his mood swung from tired to curious and landed on annoyed. 

Every time John came home to find Sherlock aware of his absence, it had meant that Sherlock wasn’t in the middle of an experiment or a case or research. It meant that Sherlock was likely bored; and a bored Sherlock was an unpredictable Sherlock. 

“Look, Sherlock,” John started, cutting Sherlock off before she could rope John into something crazy. “It’s been a bloody long day and I really just had plans to watch a film and have some takeaway. Just low key and quiet, ok?"

Sherlock studied John as he moved into the flat, taking in all the details that he had memorized about the man, and observing all of the new ones that told the story of his day.

“Your day has been particularly long because you left an hour this morning hoping you could skip out early this afternoon. But the tube was late and you ended up there at the same time as you normally would. You either had a rather amorous patient or,” Sherlock leaned forward and sniffed John. “Ah, no. The new receptionist isn’t taking no for an answer. She’d be a bit young for you even if you were interested.”

John supposed he should be used to this by now. “Yes, good. Now if you’re quite through, Sherlock, I really would like a hot shower before...”

“But that’s not the real reason you’re annoyed,” Sherlock continued, cutting John off. “You’re bothered that no one remembered that today is your birthday. Of course, you’ve never mentioned your birthday to any of your colleagues, and since you can’t work with people like me all of the time, though I wish you would quit that silly surgery already, I fail to understand how you could possibly expect them to know.”

“But... How could you possibly?” John asked.

“Oh, come on, John. How could I possibly know when your birthday is?” Sherlock repeated in that mocking tone he took on when talking to members of Scotland Yard. 

“I thought you wouldn’t care about that sort of thing,” John admitted. 

“Normally, you’d be correct,” Sherlock agreed. “But for you? That’s different. For example, I know that you intended to spend the night eating takeaway and watching some sort of shoot ‘em up action film. So, I’ve already ordered in Thai, which should be on the way, and you’ll find your copy of "Casino Royale" on the telly.”

John flushed, more than a little stunned. “I was going to go for "Die Hard: With a Vengeance" actually, but if you...”

“Damn, there’s always something,” Sherlock muttered to himself, waving away John’s offer to watch something else. 

“Sherlock,” John started, but found he wasn’t sure how to express how much this all meant to him. “Thanks.”

Sherlock’s face split into a giant smile. “I haven’t showed you the best part yet!”

“Oh?”

Sherlock grabbed John’s arms and guided him into the kitchen. In the center of the counter, previously hidden from John’s view, was a fully frosted birthday cake, complete with a candle in the middle. 

“Did you? Sherlock, did you bake me a cake?” John asked, stunned. 

“I did! Although, I now owe Mrs. Hudson some ingredients and I’ve agreed to some hours in the lab at Bart’s,” Sherlock confessed. “Also, we may need to buy more measuring cups. That is if you ever used them anyway.”

John digested these odd statements and came to the startling conclusion that not only did Sherlock bake him a cake, he had the help of Mrs. Hudson and Molly. Which likely accounted for the fact that 221B is still standing, John thought. 

“Can I try it?” John asked, moving forward to examine his cake. 

“Before your dinner has arrived? I thought it customary to eat cake as a desert.”

“It’s my birthday,” John reminded him. “I can do whatever I want on my birthday. And right now I want a piece of my cake and then I want to give you a proper thank you.”

John reached out and swiped at the frosting with his finger before bringing it to his mouth to lick off. Sherlock had a moment to smile before John pulled him into a kiss by his collar. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him against his body, deepening the kiss and tasting the vanilla frosting on John’s lips. 

When they pulled apart a little while later, John rested his forehead against Sherlock’s. “As much as I want to just say forget the food and the film and just have you for my birthday, I am dying to know what a cake made by the great Sherlock Holmes tastes like.”

Sherlock chuckled, “I’ll get plates.”

 

***

 

A while later, after the cake had been cut and declared not only fit for human consumption, but also more than a little good; after the Thai had arrived and they had taken their food into the living room to watch John’s choice of film; after Sherlock had pointed out the flaws in Simon Gruber’s plans and John rolled his eyes and smiled to himself; after all of that, John and Sherlock laid curled up on their bed, naked, sweaty and tangled in the sheets and each other, John asked the question that had been wondering about all night.

“Just how many times did you almost set our flat on fire before you asked for help with the cake?”

Sherlock made an annoyed noise. “Only a few. Three or four. I would have figured it out eventually, but Mrs. Hudson didn’t like the fact that I kept setting off the fire alarm in 221A. She tried to help, but I think I may have scared her off from baked goods for the foreseeable future. Molly was much a much better assistant. Just like in the lab.”

John tipped his head back and roared with laughter and Sherlock looked annoyed.

“Only you, Sherlock,” John managed once his laughter lessened. “But thank you. This is the best birthday I’ve had in a very long time.”

Sherlock pulled John closer. “You deserve it,” he said into a kiss.

“It is a pity, though,” John said a while later just as they were drifting off.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asked, voice thick with sleep in a way that only happened when he and John were in bed together. 

“Mrs. Hudson off baking. I’ve grown rather fond of her chocolate biscuits.”

Sherlock snorted a laugh, “Go to sleep, John.”

“I love you,” John whispered into Sherlock’s neck. “Thank you.”

And Sherlock pulled John tightly against his side, and kissed his temple, before they both slid into sleep and the last few minutes of John’s birthday slipped away.


End file.
